The Beatles
by Serp
Summary: Spike's got a new car, but Julia's not impressed. Inspired by my friend's car which spewed dead leaves the first time he turned on the A/C.


Julia worked part-time in a small flower shop. Spike had walked past it dozens of times, but he had never actually been in, since the only time he ever bought flowers was when he was trying to impress a woman, and even then he usually forgot on the way to her house and ended up grabbing a cheap bouquet from some dingy gas station. But, he thought, there's always a first time for everything. It was crowded inside - not with people, but with flowers and plants of every colour, size and smell - and Spike had trouble edging his tall frame between the packed benches and under the hanging baskets that cascaded from the ceiling. Julia was finishing off an arrangement of white lilies. She smiled when he came in. Spike was about to offer a witty greeting when he got a nose full of pollen and sneezed.

"Give me five minutes," Julia said, watering the oasis and stashing it on one of the benches.

Spike rubbed his nose, his eyes watering. "Sure. Mind if I wait outside?" He walked out and stood underneath the awning. It was five o' clock, but it was swelteringly hot, the air was dry and dusty, and all the pedestrians on the street were simply looking for somewhere out of the sun. Spike lit a cigarette and watched as Julia closed the shop, brought in the displays, locked up and pulled down the metal shutters.

There was a small, battered car parked down a thin alley on the other side of the street and to Julia's surprise Spike unlocked it and folded himself inside. It smelled of old cabbages, spicy curry and tobacco smoke, accentuated by the heat that seemed to emanate from everywhere. Julia wrinkled her nose as she clambered into the threadbare passenger seat. "Sweet ride, Spike."

"Don't," Spike said grouchily as she sat back, giggling. "I had to pay the rent and after that this was all I could afford, so none of your smart-ass comments please."

A burst of laughter escaped Julia's lips. "You actually bought this piece of junk with your own money?"

"It's not junk," Spike said defensively, easing the vehicle off the curb. It juddered and stalled as the front wheel hit the road. "It's a genuine 1995 Volkswagen Beetle in hot-rod red. It's vintage."

"Vintage, huh?" Julia sniffed the air gingerly. "Sure smells it."

Spike pouted and kept driving.

The car stalled again when they reached a red light but Spike said nothing and Julia stifled a laugh when she saw the look on his face. The end of the street looked a long way away as they slowly coasted down it, the sun shining hot through the glass. Spike thought longingly of the Swordfish II, the smell of the leather, the G-Force pushing him back in his seat, the ground falling away beneath him as he blasted into the sky, the efficient A/C and, of course, the ridiculous speed it was capable of. Compared to the Swordfish, the Beetle's top speed of 85mph was like watching paint dry. Although, thought Spike as he turned the key in the ignition for the fourth time, Paint. Doesn't. Stall.

Julia fanned herself with a hand, squinting through the sun's glare. The heat was inescapable. But when she looked around for a window button, there wasn't one. "Could you open the window?"

"I can't," said Spike through gritted teeth. "You've gotta do it yourself."

"Really?" Julia raised an eyebrow and sat up, looking around for the button again. "Where?"

"There's a handle in the door."

Julia looked nervously at the latch.

"No, it's a little black handle. You turn it and the window slides down."

"What, this thing?" Julia wound the crank nervously and the window jerkily descended. "Well that's dumb..."

"Vintage," Spike reminded her. "It's not dumb, it's vintage."

Julia was unimpressed, and was starting to feel a little claustrophobic and irate. "Vintage my ass, Spike. This piece of shit should've been scrap metal fifty years ago. Is it even road worthy?" A sleek black convertible streaked by.

"It's a genuine Earth model from before the gate accident!" Spike said hotly. "That chair you're sitting in is a piece of history that would have been lost forever if some crazy rich guy hadn't decided that what he really needed to take with him to Mars was a sexy but economic twentieth century automobile."

Julia leaned forward to flick on the A/C, to no avail. "Pull over."

"What?"

"I'm getting out. Pull over."

Spike stared at her incredulously. "You serious?"

"I just don't want to be seen in this… this _car_, OK?" Julia blushed, feeling stupid even for thinking it.

"You afraid Vicious'll dump you just because he might see you getting out of a Beetle?" Spike couldn't bring himself to say that he probably shared his best friend's opinion.

Julia ran a hand through her hair, getting desperate. "I'll pay you fifty if you pull over."

Spike, too stubborn for his own good, only stopped when they reached Julia's apartment a few minutes later. Julia put on her sunglasses before grabbing her bags and opening the door. To her horror, Vicious was crossing the road just as they arrived and he raised an eyebrow at the little vehicle, his face unreadable. "You're kidding."

"It was all I could afford, alright?" Spike grunted, clambering out and slamming the door. "Stupid piece of crap." He reached for his cigarettes.

Julia hugged Vicious around the middle and stood back to admirethe car. "I told him he should get rid of it."

Vicious froze up. "Really?"

Spike looked at his friend suspiciously. "Why? Is this kind of ancient metal just that redundant it's not even worth taking to the dump?"

Vicious reached out to stroke the bonnet. "It's a genuine, vintage 1995 Volkswagen Beetle. Hot-rod red... This caris an irreplaceable artifact of the history of engineering, a window into a world now lost to us."

Spike and Julia gaped at him as he slowly moved around the car like a sleepwalker, his fingers touching every dent and scratch on the faded paint work, eyes glazed over with awe. After a few minutes, Julia looked at Spike and met his awkward expression with an embarrassed one.

"I've got some Brunellos in the cabinet. Vintage."

"Don't. I don't want to hear that word ever again." Spike followed her inside, the two of them leaving Vicious to his own devices.

"Alright," Julia said, opening the door of her apartment. "What about retro? Retro Brunellos?"

"Honestly, I don't give a damn." Spike said, shoving a hands in his pockets and peeking through the window at his little Beetle down on the street. "How much d'you reckon Vicious'll pay me for it?"


End file.
